by R. J. Blain
Somewhere in the water, not too far away, a shark hunted, and he didn’t like me in his territory. With a low chuckle, I thought about making a pot of shark fin soup.
It didn’t take him long to retreat to the safety of deeper waters.
“Wuss,” I muttered. Kicking the surf meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but I’d been on such a tight leash the act of rebellion and protest felt almost as good as not having Dad or Mom breathing down my neck. It also covered my utter lack of a plan. I’d made it to Malibu.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
At home, when I wasn’t studying, doing horrible things to corpses, or convincing my parents I still lived, I slept. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to a movie, visited the firing range, or done something—anything—just for me. Hell, it’d been months since I’d spent any time with someone outside of the pack, let alone tried to find a nice Normal girl, someone uninfluenced by the constraints of the Inquisition.
I’d accept any Normal as a friend. The last thing I needed was a relationship requiring me to explain the rather awkward issues of water witches and sex. I’d been warned I’d ‘enjoy’ a few benefits when I finally found a partner, primarily a front row view of how much she enjoyed my company.
Most thought water witch men were terrible in bed due to the constant sensory barrage. Water witch women, however, were desired for the same reason men struggled.
I’d figure something out—or practice until I could turn my disadvantage into her advantage. A lot of practice sounded like a great idea to me. Like everything else in my life, finding a girl would have to wait until I had better control over my witchcraft. I wasn’t doing badly, but I still struggled to separate what I could sense with my magic versus my eyes, nose, and by touch.
At least my work in the morgue had done me some good in that regard. I’d seen so many people killed from accidents in the past few months I could identify something amiss given ten minutes. Cancer gave me the creeps, registering as waves of hot and cold whenever I concentrated on its presence in the body. A lot of people had cancer without realizing it, their tumors so small they weren’t detected. I struggled with illnesses; each one felt a little different, although I had determined colds made the inside of my head itch while digestive issues ensured I wanted nothing to do with food for the next few hours.
I’d also gotten better at ignoring the consequences of my witchcraft.
Sighing, I kicked my way out of the water, retrieved my sneakers, and left the beach, stopping to stare at a surf shop on the otherwise deserted boardwalk. Without knowing how to swim, surfing was essentially suicide, but I still wanted to go out and experience the waves and feel them crash around me.
Surfers usually looked like they were having fun, although I hadn’t seen any catching the waves on my little section of beach.
With nothing to lose, I frowned, shrugged, and headed into the store.
Surfboards lined the walls, leaving the corners for other accessories, and was empty except for a tall Hispanic man with enough muscle to snap me in half if he wanted. When I got within five feet of him, the prickling of the hair on my arms and the back of my neck warned me the man wasn’t what he appeared.
I’d found a Fenerec.
He seemed friendly enough, offering a grin and leaning on the counter beside his register. “You don’t look like a surfer, dude. Lookin’ to get started?”
“Just curious,” I replied, marveling at the selection of boards for sale. “I can’t swim.”
“No shit?”
“Sad, right? Been thinking about learning so I could try surfing,” I confessed. Once again, I blamed Dad for my interest. When the waves were down, he fished. When they were up, he tried to drown himself using a surfboard, much to my mother’s endless anguish.
I looked over the shop’s stock, amused over the longer boards. How could anyone balance on one, cut across the waves, and not drown? On the surface, it looked a lot like magic to me.
“Take some swimming lessons. There’s a pool a few blocks down the street. I’m sure someone there can teach you. It doesn’t take long to pick up the basics. That said, don’t go challenging the waves alone until you’re proficient. That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”
“Noted. Is surfing hard?”
“A little, but it’s fun. It’s a good workout, too. Tell you what, dude. Learn how to swim and come back here. I’ll give you some lessons—on the house. Ocean swimming’s different from in a pool, so I’ll help you there, too.”
“Nice. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”
He grinned at me. “You won’t be thanking me when I get you hooked and you have to buy your own board.”
Since all work and no play made me an ass, Dad wouldn’t be happy after I finished with the family credit card. “I’ll be back,” I swore, ducking out of the shop and waving, off to find out how long it took for a fledgling water witch to learn how to swim.
I found some poor bastard willing to teach me how to swim for a twenty, and it took me less than an hour to figure out the basics. I mastered the holding my breath thing in minutes, thanks to a well-timed surprise dunking from the bum I’d hired.
Breathing in water sucked. I wouldn’t make that mistake if I had anything to say about it.
With a little effort and some tips from my malodorous new friend, I determined I wouldn’t drown if I breathed only when my nose and mouth were above the surface. I wouldn’t be winning any races anytime soon, but I had the doggy paddle down to an art.
I’d blame Dad for that later.
Learning to tread water took a bit longer than I liked, but I managed. When he was satisfied my lifeless body wasn’t going to be pulled out of the pool if he headed to the nearest bar, my so-called teacher abandoned ship and left me to figure out the rest on my own.
Swimming strained muscles I hadn’t even known I had, and by the time I crawled out of the pool several hours later, I ached from head to toe. Surfing could wait until my legs weren’t wobbling beneath me. In the meantime, I’d check off a few more things from my impromptu list of immature runaway rebellion.
I picked an action-adventure movie with more explosions than plot, discovering I’d learned a lot more about what killed people from working in the morgue than I cared to think about. Each time someone died, I watched with morbid fascination, unable to resist the urge to compare their fictional deaths with reality. In the film, the heroes reminded me of Fenerec and were equally difficult to kill.
The kid’s dog was nigh invincible, outclassing even my father.
After the movie, I wasted almost two hours finding a ratty motel that accepted cash. Swiping any of my credit cards would have Dad—or one of his cop friends—breathing down my neck in short order. While I was less than enthused with my roach roommates, there was no sign of bedbugs or other nasties looking to hitch a ride.
Roaches I could handle. Fleas, on the other hand, made my skin crawl just thinking about them.
Bright and early the next morning, I headed back to the beach to watch the surf crash on the sand. Although it was close to dawn, I spotted the buff shopkeeper unlocking his store.
“You’re up early,” he commented, pushing open the door.
“Apparently, I’m not bad at the whole not drowning thing,” I announced, shoving my hands into my pockets. “That offer still open?”
He chuckled. “Sure, dude. Waves are up, the beach is clear, and it’ll be quiet for a few hours yet. I’ll grab you a rental board while you pick something appropriate to wear. You can leave your things in the shop while we surf.”
Following him into the store, I took a look around, spotting the racks of swim trunks in a corner. “Got a name?”
“Sure do.”
I laughed; his answer matched my snark when I wanted to yank someone’s tail. “I’m Dustin.”
“Dan. The shop’s my hobby. Seems I enjoy the beach too much for my own good and needed an excuse to stick around. Most of my
customers are from my day job, and the rest are from my brother’s. I open on my days off.”
“That’s a terrible way to run a business.”
“That’s what my brother keeps telling me. I don’t listen. Hours are great, though.” Dan headed to the rack of surfboards, which I took as a silent cue to pick out the cheapest pair of trunks I found. If someone didn’t like my flowers, that was their problem, not mine. Dan pointed me to a tiny bathroom in the back of the shop. I changed, and when I emerged, the Fenerec showed me his office, where we stashed my things.
“All right, Dustin. You’re about to enjoy being battered, bruised, and tossed around like you’re a rag doll. Sound like fun?”
“Your sales pitch needs work.”
Dan laughed and shoved a bright yellow surfboard into my hands. “Mother always told me honesty was the best policy. It’ll be fun, but you’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
Going home would be a lot easier if I ached too much to regret losing my newfound freedom.
If Dan learned about the three curious sharks watching us, would he flip? I was tempted to find out. The man took fiendish delight in pushing my buttons, surfing the equivalent of circles around me while I discovered wiping out hurt a lot more than I expected, especially when I smacked into my surfboard on the way down. An hour after we entered the water, I caught my first wave and made it to the beach before falling on my ass.
Dan came to a far more graceful halt, capturing his board and grinning at me. “Fun, right?”
“Hell yeah.”
“You’re not doing badly at all, especially for someone who just learned how to swim. I was worried I’d be fishing more than surfing. Tell you what. You ride ten full waves, and I’ll take you to a nicer spot down the beach. These waves aren’t bad, but there are better swells not far from here.”
“Ah-ha! That’s why there aren’t many people here. Better waves nearby?”
“Bingo. I like it, though. It’ll be tougher to paddle out, but if we’re lucky, we’ll catch a few good waves.”
I regarded the ocean with narrowed eyes. “Ten full waves, huh?”
“Bonus points if you make the beach without falling on your ass.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The longer I stayed in the water, the more aware I became of the ocean flowing around me and how the waves swelled and crested. According to Dan, the waves on our beach were barely good enough to ride, making them ideal for a beginner with a knack for figuring out which wave would turn into something worthwhile. After my first successful run to the beach, I got better at making the board do what I wanted, too. Dan coached me on how to predict the ocean’s movements and fall without smacking into my board on my way down.
“All right. I think you’re about ready to try something a bit more challenging. Up for it?” Dan hauled his board over his shoulder. “The best spot’s about a mile from here. If we’re lucky, we might see some really good swells.”
“What counts as really good?”
“At least twice as big as here.”
If the smaller waves hurt during a wipeout, I suspected the larger ones would leave me battered and bruised. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Is it faster to get there walking, or do I have to start a career in grand theft auto?”
Dan laughed. “I’ve got a truck. Let’s grab your stuff. I’ll bring a better board for you to try, too.”
“How much is a board going to cost me, anyway?”
“A cheap one’ll ding you a couple hundred. The good ones hit four digits. The one you’ve been using is a high-end beginner board, and it sells for three hundred—cheap for its quality. I’m going to loan you a better one, which costs seven hundred.”
I didn’t even need to think about it; I planned on whipping out my credit card, and to hell if Dad showed up. If he complained, I’d beat him with my new acquisition. “Tell you what. I got a thousand I can dump into this for the board and whatever else I need. Rest pays for my lesson. Ring me up before we head to the new spot. Sound fair?”
“Told ya you’d be hooked.”
“My wallet doesn’t thank you.”
“Ah, but your heart does, kid.”
He was right, but I scowled anyway. “Just shut up and take my money, Dan.”
A thousand dollars later, I owned a surfboard and everything else I needed to drown myself at my leisure. A five-minute drive landed us on a busy beach with hundreds of people vying to catch the perfect wave. While we paddled out, Dan coached me on surfing etiquette, which boiled down to surf safely and give everyone space without being a dick about it.
It didn’t take long for me to find a whole new appreciation for surfing; women in the skimpiest bikinis I’d ever seen were surfing, too. The ladies in Vegas had a lot to learn from the babes showing off beneath the California sun.
Waiting for my turn was easy with scantily-clad women in plentiful supply. I filed the view away to use for blackmailing Dad later. If Mom wasn’t aware of the surf babes, she’d find out soon enough.
Dan was right about the waves, though. They were large and so frequent my head spun. To my dismay, I wiped out more often, too. The Fenerec enjoyed goading me with his grin and kept showing me how it was done, which drove me right back into the water to try again. For every six of his good runs, I barely made one.
There were surfers who wiped out more than I did, which made my failures easier to swallow.
By the time the sun set, I hurt from head to toe, had so many bruises I’d be as black as Dad by morning, and possessed an unhealthy need to paddle out and catch just one more wave.
“One more.” I grabbed the tether and hauled my surfboard in, gripping it so I could plow into the ocean to add to my collection of bumps and bruises.
“Addict,” Dan teased, wading into the surf with me. “At the rate you’re going, you might actually end up good at this. That said, when people say someone’s a bloody natural, they don’t mean it literally.”
I laughed and touched my nose, which still hurt from its introduction to my surfboard. Fortunately, my blood hadn’t stained anything or attracted any hungry sharks. “Lesson learned. I’ll try to avoid smacking myself in the face with my board in the future.”
“Good one to learn early. Let’s try out a little farther this time. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch a nice rogue wave.”
We’d seen three rogue waves slam the shore, cresting at eight feet. Dan had caught one; I’d been flattened, rolled, and pancaked to shore by the second, where I had laughed hysterically at my wipe out. We had missed the third altogether.
While I wasn’t supposed to use any witchcraft, I couldn’t stop sensing the waves and the sea life teeming beneath the surface. The thought of creating a rogue wave hadn’t crossed my mind until Dan voiced his hope of catching one before we quit surfing. Could I make one little rogue wave without screwing something up?
Common sense said no.
The ocean said yes.
In the distance, far enough out we’d have time to swim to meet it, the pressure of a growing wave approached, stronger than the others I’d felt, a silent behemoth surging towards shore. We paddled to where the swells began to crest, and in the fading light, the telltale ridge of water promising a larger swell formed. Dan whooped while I regretted subjecting myself to such an exhilarating yet terrifying hell.
The wave crested, curling over us as we hurtled towards shore. I angled my board in the unlikely hope of making it to the beach without the ocean gobbling me up, spitting me out, and rolling me onto the sand in a tangle of arms, legs, and tether, with a hitchhiking surfboard bobbing along for the ride.
While most of the crowd had cleared out, a few watched Dan cut his way across the wave, pulling the sorts of tricks I’d dream about later. I fought to keep my balance, considering the fact the wave hadn’t ditched me within the first few heartbeats my victory.
I had almo
st made it when the wave crashed down and rolled me onto the beach. Instead of the nice, sandy landing I expected, I thumped into a pair of legs. My breath whooshed out of me, and as though insulted I dare leave it behind, my board smacked my head.
“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, boy?”
Only one man I knew could pack so much disapproval into his tone—and stand as firm as a mountain despite all one hundred and fifty pounds of me crashing into his legs. Damned surfboard. Damned temptation. Damned me for using my damned credit card. “Hi, Dad.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you went surfing without me. You, who couldn’t even swim the last time I checked.”
Yep, I was a dead man walking. My father would kill me, hide my body, and get away with it. “Who, me?”
“Are you aware you have a surfboard on your face?”
“Debbie Downer,” I complained.
Dan crowed his laughter. “Now that’s what I call a rogue wave. You all right, kid?”
“Sure. I’m just lying here because it’s fun. Don’t mind me.”
Dad sighed. “Dustin.”
“Yes, Debbie Downer?”
Talking back to Dad never ended well. He kicked me hard to roll me into the surf. “I taught you better than that.”
“Sorry, Dad. That’s Dan. He taught me how to surf.”
“Did he also teach you how to swim?”
“Nah. I paid some bum a twenty for a lesson.” It was a good thing my father was a Fenerec; his resigned sigh made it sound like I’d cost him at least ten years of his life. Then again, maybe I had with my vanishing trick. “Hey, Dad?”
“I don’t want to know, Dustin. Get your board and get your lanky ass to the car.”
I deserved the yank on my ear, but did he have to twist so hard?
“I really hope my hell-spawned child hasn’t bothered you, Dan.”
“Not at all. You’ve got a good kid. I’ll get your stuff out of the truck, Dustin.”
